‘Are you sore at all?’ His voice was deep and husky. ‘A little.’ I broke out, my voice wasn’t as strong as his seemed to be. He spread my fo...ds with his fingers, slowly stroking my tender flesh as if to soothe it. Inserting one finger, my breath caught and I closed my eyes to his skillful touch. Taking that as a sign to continue, he continued his rhythm of removing his finger and pushing it farther in with each stroke. I placed my hand on his chest and opened my eyes to see him still staring at. Pulling up the tight hemline; near apologetic at her own behaviour, her own desire, her own need. The slithers of pain across her chest insufficient. Humdrum skirting bunching about her waist, its dreary charcoal fabric infused with the scent of her embarrassment as her fingers spread her sopping labia and tease their way along the chaste channel of her discarded slit. Her clit stands proud and attentive, eager for her touch, her caress, her self-abuse. Her eyes closing as her fingers flutter. More

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